("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Watching the Watcher by Marc (address defunct) *** A business man staying at a hotel gets the opportunity of a lifetime when he notices a couple in the hotel bar, playing at wife sharing. (MF, wife-sharing, voy, cuck) *** I was tired. Why did I decide to drive from San Fran to LA? I know, the Coastal Highway is a great road (not nearly as nice as the Cabot Trail, Cape Briton, NS, but nice enough), and I had the weekend to burn before some meetings in LA. Never the less, it was a grinding drive this weekend. Oh well, I'd be back home Wednesday. It was my practice to visit important customers at least once a year, and this was the West Coast loop. It's lonely work, sometimes. Anyhow, the Sheraton in Santa Barbara was nice enough. I sat in the chair on the room's balcony, looking over my notes, and staring vacantly out at the parking lot. It wasn't the best room, but it was available, and in my state of mind, that was all that was important. The sun had just set: I didn't know what passed for nightlife here, but whatever it was, it would have to happen without me. I was beat. My attention was drawn to a mid sized Lexus that was being driven strangely. It pulled into the lot, then after a few minutes, out again. Finally, after another couple of minutes it returned, and parked not too far from my balcony. No one got out for what seemed a long time. Finally, the driver exited. He looked to be about 50, he was tall, with not a lot of hair. "Baldy," I decided, would be good name for him. He went around the car, opened the passenger side door, and drew out a woman who was obviously reluctant to be there. She could have been in her early 30's. They weren't arguing exactly - he was, if I read the body language correctly, trying to convince her of something. Finally she nodded yes, he picked up a bag from the trunk, and they started toward the hotel's lobby. There was more body language that suggested they were married - I decided she must be a trophy wife. Well, good for him. He wouldn't be alone in his bed tonight as I would be. I sat for another half hour on my balcony, watching the light of the day fade. Now what? I could go to the in- room bar, pop open a couple of mini bottles of rum, and get relaxed enough to get to sleep early. Or, I could go down to the lounge, and drink there. I thought drinking alone in my room bordered on unhealthy behavior: I'd drink alone in the lounge instead. Yeah, I know, those are strange standards. The lounge was fairly empty. Well, it was early. There were a few couples dancing to a not-so-bad group playing some sugary slow music, and a few others, couples and singles, scattered about the bar and tables. It fit my mood. The barman delivered my first rum-coke, and meandered off to tend to other customers. I had my back to the bar, people watching, when "Trophy Wife" came in. "Where's Baldy?" I wondered. Were they having an argument or something? Was she after -- what did people call it -- space? Trophy made her way to the bar -- not a table? -- and sat down a half dozen stools from me. That was odd. She gestured to the barkeep, and before long was sipping what had to be a white wine of some kind. It was a token drink, more a prop while for waiting for her husband than anything, I was sure. She was facing the bar, looking at the reflection of the crowd, when after a few minutes I saw Baldy enter. I had another sip of rum/coke -- the world was whole again. He walked toward the bar. They made eye contact via the mirror, but there was no overt sign of recognition between them. He walked past her! Odder still. Finally, Baldy settled onto a stool a couple of seats on the other side of me -- what the hell was going on? They must have had some fight! I turned toward the mirror, and watched him for a moment. He seemed to meet her gaze, and seemed to gesture impatiently to her. She in turn seemed to nod. OK, it was clear I wasn't confused, this was the Baldy and Trophy I saw in the parking lot -- they did have a relationship, but they were concealing it here. Santa Barbara is full of strange people. Maybe not so strange. Trophy was talking to someone who came up beside her, and in a moment left her seat to dance with him. The expression on Baldy's face was priceless! They're playing THAT game. That wife-watching I-wanna- be-a-cuckold game. The evening is going to be interesting, after all. He's a wife-watcher, and I'll be a wife-watcher watcher. Trophy returned from the dance floor alone, and I saw her subtly shake her head "no" to the reflection of her husband. His expression grew angry, it was obvious to me, and I'm sure Trophy saw that, too. She spent a moment dabbing at her eyes - could she have been crying? - then with a noticeable deep breath, turned to face the people in the lounge. "Lonely," her attitude cried. "Come talk to me," it screamed. No takers! Trophy was going unnoticed. What a waste. She turned back to the bar, a discouraged and sad expression on her face. She looked again at Baldy's angry face, then her eyes met mine. Wait a minute. Just because I knew they were playing the game didn't mean I couldn't play! I didn't do what most would, and avert my gaze. Instead, I raised my glass to her image, offering a token toast. She paused for a moment, then raised her glass, too -- she may have been thinking she was returning my toast, but I read it as "Invitation -- come join me." So I moved next to her. "Hi, I'm Bill. If you'd like a little company, I'd love to talk. On the other hand, if sitting quietly is what you want, I'll go away. That would ruin my day, maybe the whole weekend, or even the rest of my life, but I'd go away. Could you be that cruel?" Her face transformed itself into a lovely smile. What a trophy she was. "Bill, I wouldn't want to ruin your whole life. Sure, sit with me for awhile. I'd like that. I'm Maureen." Her offered hand was wonderfully soft. We exchanged resumes: mine was truthful. "This is just a transient stop, LA for a couple of days, then home to Chicago. The little software company I have there is doing OK while I'm gone, but my VP sometimes gets sidetracked, and the guys will be off solving some problems that don't matter." "How many guys?" "Thirty five programmers on that project. I have a couple of hundred people working there." Her story didn't fit the facts as I knew them. "Just took a taxi from the airport. My husband will be coming here tomorrow to meet me, then we're off to look at real estate in the area." I thought I'd test that. "Santa Barbara is a nice place. I'd like to live here. You and your husband are lucky to have the chance. I'll bet you and he were childhood sweethearts." "No, it turns out we were both divorced, we met a couple of years ago, and we've been together for less than a year." Trophy wife, I was absolutely sure of that now. Married to a guy who I think is a voyeur, too. Time to test that theory, too. "Well, even if you are married," I said, "you can dance with me, can't you?" "Yes, yes I can," she agreed. I had seen Baldy's image in the mirror make small encouraging gestures while we were talking. So, we danced -- formal dancing with formal distances between us. Still. I liked holding her, and really liked the expression on Baldy's face as I moved on the floor with her. After a few numbers we returned to the bar. "Should I get a table for us?" I wondered aloud. Maureen paused a moment. "Yeah, do that. I've got to go to the lady's room, I'll find you when I come back." I was sure she'd leave and never return -- Baldy would take her upstairs, and act out what the voyeur in him wanted to see. Sure enough, a minute after she left, Baldy did too. Too bad. It was entertaining for awhile. I was finishing my drink, getting ready to leave, when I noticed Baldy through the lounge door, going to the elevator. Alone. Another minute passed, then Maureen came in, and found her way to the table. Her eyes were a bit red, as though she had been crying. "Can we dance some more?" she asked, standing beside me. I took her to the floor -- she kept her head averted, but we were dancing closely, holding on tight. A moment of that kind of contact went by, and then the game changed -- I was sure I heard her sob. "Maureen, are you all right?" "I shouldn't be doing this," she said, not quite the answer to my question, but it confirmed everything I suspected. "Maureen," I said, holding her firmly, providing a strong lead to the dance, but not letting her pull away, which I thought she might do, "Maureen, I know what's going on." "You couldn't possibly know what's going on," she sobbed through her tears. "If you mean I don't understand about voyeur husbands asking their wives to entertain them by having sex with someone else, you're wrong -- I do understand. Maureen, I saw that man, the one I think is your husband" -- she started to pull away, but my hold on her, masked by dancing, was too strong to allow that -- "bring you here. I saw him watching you, then watching us. Does he expect you to seduce me?" She stopped moving to the music. There was a long pause, then she sighed: "Yes." "And he wants to watch?" "Yes." "And you agreed to try, to try to please him?" "I said I'd try, yes, to excite him." "Excite him?" "He has some trouble sexually, he thinks this would help." "Watching would help?" "Yes, he asked me to do that.." I let a minute pass. "Maureen, if you want to please him, to put on a show for him, I'll help. We'll make it good for him, and I'll try to make it good for you, too." "How could you," she wanted to know, "agree to do something like that when you know he'll be watching?" "I think it'll make it more exciting," I said, "especially knowing that you want to do it to please him." "I don't think I can do it," she said. "He'll keep asking until you do. Take me to your room, I'll make it easy, I promise." The music was all that spoke for a few minutes, then she pulled away a little, and looked me in the eye. "It would only be a show, huh?" "Nonsense," I told her. "It would be a show for him, but I'd love sharing sex with you -- that it's a show would only make it better. How's he going to watch, anyhow?" "Our room has a balcony: he thinks he can sit on a chair out there and look in through the window drapery." "I guess he tried that out already, huh?" "Yeah, before we came down here." "Did he ever ask you to do this before?" "No, I told him it was going to be a one time thing only, if I do it at all, and he agreed." "Do you believe him?" "Yeah, I really do." "You know he'll keep after you until you do something. Get it over with." "I'll have to, sooner or later. I guess now's as good a time as any. At least it's all out in the open." We left the lounge, and walked like two business associates to the elevator, then to her -- their -- room. "Before we go in, should we set up a plan?" "The only plan I want is to get this over with as soon as I can." "That won't work. Look, play it out. Let yourself go. Have fun. I think if you make it quick, he won't be satisfied. You used to be single -- act that way. This is a fling, OK?" She thought that over. "Act single, huh? A fling? I did that before, and you know, it was fun. OK. better than that, I'm a wife on a fling. Give me a minute or two to get into that scene." She stood there, shook her hands a bit, getting into character. "I'm ready. Starting now, it's show time." She stood on her toes a little, and planted a kiss on my lips. She took her card key from her purse, swiped it through the reader, the green LED's announced the door was unlocked. My mind has funny insights, sometimes. I think in this case a red light would have been more appropriate. "Improv time. Come along, Bill." She took my hand and led me through the door. "'Welcome to my web,' said Maureen the spider to Bill the fly," she said with a smile, closing the door. "Nice room -- bigger than mine," I said as we walked into the main part of the suite. The drapes to the balcony were closed except for a small gap, where they were casually held back by a chair. Maureen got the bright lights out, and lit only a small bedside one. "That sets a nice mood, doesn't it?" "It does," I said, and took her into my arms. "I couldn't do things like kiss you down stairs," I said. "Like I told you," she said, setting the scene, speaking loud enough for him to hear, "I'm mad as hell at my husband, and this is my way to get even. Sure, kiss me..." she couldn't finish, the last part was muffled because my mouth covered hers. "Oh, that was nice. He hasn't kissed me like that for a long time. Can I have another?" she asked when we parted. "Oh, at least one other," and we embraced again. "You're pretty good at that," she said, "I hope you're good at more than just kissing. It's warm here. Shouldn't you take off your jacket?" I complied, and she kicked off her shoes at the same time. She came into my arms again, her arms around my neck, ready to kiss. I bent a little at the knees, though, and supporting her back with one arm, and reaching behind her knees with the other, picked her up. "Oh, the big bad man is sooo strong," she said as I moved to the single king sized bed and placed her in the middle of it. "Big and strong, but maybe he's not thinking ahead. I'd rather be on the sheet than the bed cover." She rolled off the bed, and pulled at the cover and blanket on one side. I worked on the other, and in less time than it takes to say it the bed became an altar, covered in white, ready to accept whatever sacrifice we cared to make. "Now," she said, coming over to me again, "want to try that again? Want to show me why you put me on the bed?" And again, I had her in the middle of the bed. She looked wonderful there, her hair long enough to spread on the sheet, long legs covered by her dark dress, legs shimmering in nylons. "Now what?" she asked. "What's the big bad man going to do now?" I leaned toward her, wanting to lay there, to hold her, but as I got close enough she pulled at my tie. "It's not formal in here, now," she said, working at it. It took a moment to get it off and on the floor. "If it's not formal," I said, "then you're a bit over- dressed, too." "Oh? What are you going to do about it?" I moved on the bed again, and knelt at her feet. I slid my arms up along the outside of her ankles, beside her knees, under her dress, up along her thighs, to her hips. "Lift up just a little." She did, lifting her hips, and I pulled, drawing pantyhose down, inside out, over knees, over ankles, and with a flourish pulled them off her feet. "I don't think you'll need those." "Are you being presumptive?" she asked with a smile, as she arranged her dress over her knees. "Uh, Ms. Maureen, I don't think I noticed resistance when I did that." "Of course not, Mr. Bill, we southern women are taught to be kind to our gentlemen friends. Besides, that makes me feel really erotic." I did some gentle pushing so that she was across the bed, instead of lying along it. Her feet were facing the balcony now. I moved beside her, "Hey, you're good at this," she whispered, and rolled on her side, moving her leg over my hip as I pulled at her knee. There was time for another kiss in this most intimate of clothed poses. During the kiss she freed her upper arm, and pushed at mine, the one that was holding her at the small of her back. The kiss broke - she pulled away just a little. "I want to excite my husband," she whispered, and she pushed that arm down, over her hip, over the dress covering her thigh, to her knee, and an inch or two lower, until it was past the lower hem of her dress, directly on her upper calf. "Can you kiss me again?" she whispered again. "While you touch me?" I did meet her lips and while I did, I let my hand move behind her knee, and pulled that leg even more over me. It came freely. And I began moving up along the back of her leg, getting halfway up her calf until the dress became tight and tangled between us. We ended the kiss, and she looked carefully at me for a moment. "I have to make some adjustments, if the gentleman is going to be able to do what I think he wants to do," she said, lifting her hips, pulling at her dress. "There. Let's try again." We did, and my hand, on the back of her leg, was free to move higher. She whispered again, "Pull my dress up, OK, make sure he can see." I did, then felt moist warmth, felt her move even more over me, her legs spread wide now, and my fingers were grazing soft hair, then her vulva's lips. I knew she was uncovered, I knew her pose let her husband look at my hand, so he had to have seen my fingers moving along those lips, back and forth, being warmed, getting more and more moist. In another moment she pulled her lips from mine. She was almost breathless. "Don't tease me like that, please don't tease." "OK." The fingers, almost of their own will, moved again, and were no longer tracing along the outside of those lips. Instead they found her clit, engorged, wet. "OH!!!" "OH!" My fingers were caressing, touching clit, pushing in, busy as could be. Her hips were pushing against my hip, responding. "I never expected this to be so exciting," she whispered, her voice quivering. The next kiss was full of passion, with gasps included as I touched one sensitive spot, then another. "Think he likes the show?" I whispered. "He'd better! I like putting it on!" I'm sure she had an orgasm. Maybe more than one. "OK. I need to come up for air," she told me, pushing me away, onto my back. She propped her head up with one hand, and looked at me. "That was great. You're pretty good, aren't you?" "I try to be." "My turn to give you pleasure." She used her free arm to push at my legs so they were a little apart, still aimed at the balcony. I reached for her, "Be still!" she commanded, as she fumbled with my belt, until it was open. "Just lay there." She bent over me, so our lips met again. I felt her hand on my stomach, then pushing under the waistband of my slacks. Then under my briefs! "Let's see how you like this," she said, and I felt those fingers going lower. I closed my eyes as they found my penis, and moved out along it, until her fingers wrapped around my cock. She lowered her head, so she was kissing me while her had did magic. "I'm losing control," I said, struggling, then felt her hand firmly around my cock, squeezing. "This'll stop that." It did. She moved onto me, kneeling over me. Her hands started on shirt buttons, then cuffs. "Sit up." She moved so I could. She pushed at my shirt, I pulled, and it was off. "Lie down." I did. She moved lower, and got the clasp on my slacks undone, then the zipper. "You pulled some of my clothes off -- now it's my turn." Moving lower she tugged at my pants, and they and my briefs started down, over my hips. I watched as my hairy belly gave way to a hairier groin. I watched as she pulled, and I lifted up, she drew the band of material over my penis's shaft, to its end and it sprang up. She finished with the pants, pulled at socks, and soon enough I was naked and erect. "You look good enough to eat," she said. "Maybe, but I still don't know what you look like under that dress." "Is that an invitation?" "You bet," I glanced to be sure she was between me and the gap in the draperies, so Baldy couldn't see my lips, and whispered "I want you to put on a show for our audience." She paused for about one beat, then said, "That's an offer I can't refuse." She rolled off the bed, then moved to its side so she was facing me and the drapery. "If," she said as her hands moved to the clasp behind her neck that was holding the dress closed, "if I take this off, are you going to be nice or nasty?" "What would you prefer?" By then she got the clasp unhooked, and the zipper lowered, and was hoisting the dress over her head. Her voice, muffled by the dress, made a promise: "I feel a little on the trashy side. I'm going to be more nasty than nice." And the dress was off. "Pretty slip. Too bad about the bra, I like my women not to wear them." "I can fix that," she told me, and did that thing women do, getting the bra off without taking off her slip. We may have been putting on a show, but this woman standing in front of me, wearing a filmy slip that almost exposed as much as it concealed was turning me on big time! "Is that slip going to come off?" "Are you man enough to take it off me?" "You bet." I was off the bed, and facing her, reaching down to grab at the slip when she said, "No, not that way." I stood, following her lead, and soon enough she had us staged as she wanted -- her, with her back to me, facing the window -- and lifted her arms. "That way." Any way was fine with me! I bend down, grabbed the lower edge of the slip, and began lifting. And she stood there, arms raised, as it, like a curtain, lifted, preparing us for the next act. She backed against me as I dropped it to the side, she pressed hard against my body. She reached behind to take my hands, and drew them around her waist, and extended her neck, tilted her head, inviting my lips to her shoulder. I was eager to follow her lead. As I nibbled there, her hands guided mine, one to her breast, the other lower, across her pubic mound. "I think this is very sexy," she told me, moving her hips against my cock. "I think anyone would think that," I agreed, while I pulled at her leg a little, enough to encourage her to stand with her feet a little apart, enough to give that hand access. My lips were on her neck now, next to her ear. "Nod if you think he likes this." Her hand, covering mine, guided my fingers between her legs, and she pulled up, pressing them between her lips. She nodded. "I like this," she said, and then there was that sharp breath as my fingers hooked into her vulva. "I like this a lot!" "I'll tell you what I'd like..." "Tell me." "You said I looked good enough to eat, didn't you?" I was loud enough for any voyeur who might be nearby to hear me. She was gasping, pelvis tilted to accommodate my fingers, and she nodded yes. "I want you to prove that." "OK," she grunted. "As soon as you stop doing that." "What part of me are you going to eat?" I asked, not yet stopping pleasuring her. "Keep doing that, and I'll be eating all of you." "All?" "Yes, all. The part that's poking my ass, the parts hanging under that, maybe other parts, too, any part you like, if you encourage me." "Oh? Any part?" My fingers were busy. "Any part you like, if you keep doing what you're doing." She reached behind her, and found my cock, began stroking it. "That part, for sure," she said. My fingers were busy little critters, probing, touching, getting wet, getting warm. I stopped, brought those fingers to my mouth. "You taste good." "You're very sexy," she countered. She backed hard against me again, and my fingers went back to work. "You're really good at that," she told me. She reached behind herself, and me, with both hands, her hands met above my buttocks. "Has any woman played with you there," she asked, her fingers tracing between them, her words coming out in pace with the finger fucking I was administering to her. "No." She was shaking a little, maybe because of what I was doing, maybe because of the circumstances, but shaking, never the less. "I feel trashy tonight. This woman will play with you there. I want to know how you taste all over.. You're going to be my late evening snack. Get on the bed." I did, wanting to take advantage of her promise, careful to lie so my head was to the balcony. I wanted him to see, too. Maureen moved to my feet, licked at my ankle. "Oh, that's nice," I told her, looking at her, her face partially obscured by my very erect cock. Then it was my knee that got her mouth's attention. I bent my legs, knees up, her between them, face to the side, nibbling. Somehow she got to mid thigh, my penis was pointing at her ear as her tongue did erotic things to my leg. She got nearer, until my cock was at her cheek. "It's time to stop teasing me, Maureen. It's time for you to turn your head." She did, and my cock moved along her cheek, then crossed her lips. I saw her lips purse, saw them touch the side of my shaft. I moved a little so its head was at her mouth. I got the most erotic light touch of a kiss. She reached up, took one of my hands, and pulled it to my cock. Her fingers wrapped mine around it, and she pushed my hand down. My foreskin peeled back, exposing a purple engorged head. "That's want I wanted to see," she told me, and those lips touched me there. She moved so that her face was in profile to me, and the balcony, and I watched her tongue wet her lips, then extend, and touch me. Its pointy tip moved along my head, up, touching, licking, probing at the end, pressing in there, while her hand guided mine in a classic masturbation movement, masturbating me, causing me to masturbate myself, exciting me, exciting her, and I was sure, exciting her husband who could see almost as well as I could. "Maureen, I want that in your cunt right now, I can't take much more of what you're doing." "In a hurry, are you?" she asked, lifting a little while I sagged back to the bed. She lowered he head, hiding me in her mouth. I could feel little spasms as her lips made a sleeve for my cock. "I do like this. It's more erotic and better than I would have believed. I'm right on the verge of an orgasm!" she said breathlessly, while driving me close, too. She lay down on me, resting, chest on chest, cock trapped under her, for a minute or two. "I hope you have something left," she finally said. "I'm still loaded, I've been holding back as much as I can." "Goodie. I want you to cum, but the first time won't be in me, at least not in the usual place. I always was a very oral person, and I'm not done being oral with you." She rolled off of me, lay beside me, leaned over my head, so we could kiss while her hand was stroking my cock. "That's nice," she said, knowing I was fully erect. She pushed at me. Not understanding, I just lay there. "Bill, roll over. I want to do your back." An offer I couldn't refuse. She reached into the bed's side table, and withdrew a bottle of baby oil. "I just happen to have this handy," she said. She poured some into her hand, and let it warm there. That went to my back, and in a moment was spread out and rubbed in. "Nice." I wanted to encourage her. I and she were facing away from the balcony. She leaned over my body, turned so she was facing away from the balcony, and whispered "this is fun. I'm going to be outrageous now." I knew from the weight shifting on the bed she was kneeling beside me. Lots of kneading of my shoulders, then my waist. My buttocks. She got a hand between my legs, found my penis, and was holding that, stoking me. I was sure my entire back and ass was oily -- it was as erotic an experience as I've ever felt. "Ever use the expression 'Kiss my ass'?" she asked, stoking. "Sure." I felt her move. Felt a light touch on my buttocks. I nearly exploded, it was so erotic. "Ever have it kissed before now?" "No!" "Want it kissed again?" "Yes." "Well?" "Well what?" Well, ask me to." "Oh. OK. Kiss my ass, Maureen!" There was that light touch again, low on my back, centered at what had to be the start of my buttocks. "More?" "More!" "Well?" "Oh -- kiss my ass!" I felt her hands on me, spreading me, and a light touch again, lower still! She wouldn't do that, would she? Her hands were pushing at my buttocks, I could feel them so close to my anus. "I like being trashy," she said, her hands kneading at me, finger tips at my anus. "Maureen, you're driving me crazy!" "Good." She didn't stop. "More?" she prompted. "Yes, of course, more." I could feel her changing position. "Well, ask me." I understood! She was moving a little, then I said "Maureen, kiss my..." I spasmed so hard I felt as though my cock drove a hole in the bed! I felt... I wasn't sure... fingers, tongue... something, moving there, in the oil, I heard a noise... I think it was a noise... from the balcony, as thought something like a chair fell over. It took a moment or two, until I finally relearned how to breathe. "Am I trashy enough?" "Oh baby, you're the queen of trashy and I love it." "Are you still hard?" "Just barely." "Maybe I'm not sexy enough to make you cum, is that it?" "You're... it's just that I want to be in you." "Oh. Well, that's easy. Roll over." I did, still erect. My mind drifted off topic for a moment, "Bill, you're a super stud," it claimed, "for not shooting a load into the bed just then." Maureen positioned me so my head was toward the balcony. A moment later she was squatting over me, her hands on my shoulders, her pelvis above mine. She wasn't looking at me, she was looking toward the drapery where her husband was watching. "Use you hands, guide yourself into me." I did, I had my cock's head brushing against her lips. She pushed herself almost upright, and with what had to be a defiant look on her face, lowered herself. I felt the pressure of her on my cock, pushing down, and adjusted myself that last fractional inch so my head started between her lips. That oily cock just slipped into that warm, moist sleeve as she lowered herself, and then, with her leaning backwards, becoming more exposed again as she lifted up. It... I... glistened with oil, with her secretions, with sex, as she rode me, fucked me. "I can't hold back!" "Don't! Don't hold back anymore, fill me, fill me up!" I had been on the verge of ejaculation for a long time, and it... I... came, pumping into her. My body wasn't my own any longer the rushing feelings of ecstatic pent-up release made my mind numb as my body jerked with each gushing release. Vaguely I realized that Maureen rode me, mouth open, tongue touching her lips, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes closed, until finally my body quieted and she sagged down over me, both of us completely spent. That intimacy lasted a few minutes. "You'd better go now. That was wonderful, but you'd better go." I had forgotten my charter, my mission. She had remembered, though. As I rolled off the bed I saw the drapery had been moved, it was now partly open. Baldy must have been standing in plain sight when she was on me! And now, he was going to enjoy her, too -- with very slippery and sloppy seconds. I quickly dressed and went to my own room a few floors away, fell into bed and slept a satiated sleep. ** I was sitting on the balcony in the morning, the newspaper in front of me, a cup of coffee in my hand, thinking of the night before, when a couple, hand in hand, body language identifying them as lovers, one pretty, a trophy wife, and the other an older balding man, made their way to a Lexus parked nearby. He took her to the passenger side door, opened it for her, and before she got in embraced and kissed her. A moment later he was in the car too, and it began moving out of the parking lot. As it turned right, I saw the passenger side window move down and an oval of a face looking up at me. Her hand emerged, waved, was withdrawn and the window closed. Then the car was gone. I spent a long time on the balcony, looking out there. "This," I thought, "is something I'll remember until the day I die." I'll remember it, sometimes, bitterly, sometimes sweetly, but I'll always remember. END * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world contract HIV every year. You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 49